roduce a new speaker in the dialogue. Moliere
was all observation, D'Artagnan laughed, Porthos swore.

"My dear Percerin," said D'Artagnan, "you will make a dress for the
baron. 'Tis I who ask you."

"To you I will not say nay, captain."

"But that is not all; you will make it for him at once."

"'Tis impossible within eight days."

"That, then, is as much as to refuse, because the dress is wanted for
the _fete_ at Vaux."

"I repeat that it is impossible," returned the obstinate old man.

"By no means, dear Monsieur Percerin, above all if _I_ ask you," said a
mild voice at the door, a silvery voice which made D'Artagnan prick up
his ears. It was the voice of Aramis.

"Monsieur d'Herblay!" cried the tailor.

"Aramis," murmured D'Artagnan.

"Ah! our bishop!" said Porthos.

"Good morning, D'Artagnan; good morning, Porthos; good-morning, my dear
friends," said Aramis. "Come, come, M. Percerin, make the baron's
dress; and I will answer for it you will gratify M. Fouquet." And he
accompanied the words with a sign, which seemed to say, "Agree, and
dismiss them."

It appeared that Aramis had over Master Percerin an influence superior
even to D'Artagnan's, for the tailor bowed in assent, and turning round
upon Porthos, said, "Go and get measured on the other side."

Porthos colored in a formidable manner. D'Artagnan saw the storm coming,
and addressing Moliere, said to him, in an undertone, "You see before
you, my dear monsieur, a man who considers himself disgraced, if you
measure the flesh and bones that Heaven has given him; study this type
for me, Master Aristophanes, and profit by it."

Moliere had no need of encouragement, and his gaze dwelt long and keenly
on the Baron Porthos. "Monsieur," he said, "if you will come with me, I
will make them take your measure without touching you."

"Oh!" said Porthos, "how do you make that out, my friend?"

"I say that they shall apply neither line nor rule to the seams of
your dress. It is a new method we have invented for measuring people of
quality, who are too sensitive to allow low-born fellows to touch
them. We know some susceptible persons who will not put up with being
measured, a process which, as I think, wounds the natural dignity of a
man; and if perchance monsieur should be one of these--"

"_Corboeuf!_ I believe I am too!"

"Well, that is a capital and most consolatory coincidence, and you shall
have the benefit of our invention."

"But how in the wo